Fear
by Nika Black
Summary: A very small part of her is triumphant, for she can finally prove to her dear sister that her fear of the dark is not unfounded. But the rest of her is too busy trying to fight off her attacker to feel smug. Dorea Black/Charlus Potter. For Nanaho-Hime.
1. Chapter 1

Dark.

Everything is dark.

All she can see is the blackness that's pressing down upon her from all sides, closing in on her, choking her, squeezing out of her head the voice of reason that reminds her that she is a _witch_ with a _wand_.

The rational part of her brain (the part that sounds suspiciously like her older sister) tells her that she is simply walking down a corridor, and that there is nothing to be afraid of. She is a _Black_ after all. At her age, she should _not_ be afraid of the dark.

But the rest of her is terrified. The problem with the dark is you never know what could be lurking just ahead of you…

As that last thought crosses her mind, the cautionary hand she's placed in front of her nose bumps into something hard. And warm. And human. She screams and jumps back, but is prevented from moving any further by a pair of hard, warm, and very human arms that snake around her waist. Part of her (a very _small_ part) is triumphant, for she can finally prove to her _dear_ sister that her fear of the dark is _not_ unfounded. But the rest of her is too busy trying to fight off her attacker to feel smug.

She suddenly finds herself pinned to the wall by a body that's far longer than hers, unable to move her arms, her legs, _anything_. A whimper sounds in her ears, and it takes a few seconds for her to realize that it's hers. Once she comes to this realization, of course, she stops immediately. Blacks don't _whimper_.

Only then does his (for no self-respecting girl would have muscles like _those_, she reluctantly admires) oddly familiar voice register in her head.

"…stopped fighting, now? I won't hurt you, I promise. I'm not going to hurt you. Don't be scared."

This last wounds her pride enough to snap her out of her temporary bout of...insanity (_not_ fear).

"I am _not_ afraid." She is proud that her voice only shakes a little.

"Dorea?" His voice sounds confused, but there is the ever-present humor lacing his words.

Now she knows why that voice sounded so familiar. It is Charlus Potter, the man – no, she corrects viciously, the _boy_ **– **that she...that they...that...

Her mind unconsciously jumps back to last week, to that horrid memory that she had been trying (unsuccessfully) to repress.

_She had been sitting in her room at home, on her bed, thinking that the Black family mansion never felt as much like home to her as her dorm at Hogwarts did. Her mother had swept into the room, interrupting her mental comparison between the dining hall here at the mansion and the Great Hall back at Hogwarts._

_"Dorea, you will soon be eighteen, and you will finish school in June. In July, you are expected to marry Charlus Potter. He is wealthy and has a fine background. And remember, girl, obedience makes a Black girl successful, and duty makes a Black girl loved." She paused for a moment. "And I expect to see you presentable and downstairs for dinner in an hour."_

_And with that, Violetta Black had swept right back out, leaving her words to swirl endlessly in her daughter's head._

_...marry...marry Charlus Potter...marry...marry..._

She returns to present time when she realizes she is no longer leaning against the wall. No, now she's leaning on _him_. And he's murmuring something into her hair. And she's crying.

She tries to suppress the tears, she really does, but she just _can't_. She's only seventeen for Salazar's sake! She isn't ready to be married! She _really_ does not want to become her mother.

She is startled to find that she feels comfort in Potter's (no, _Charlus'_) embrace. Her arms, almost of their own accord, slide around his (rather muscled) back.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. "I know this isn't what you want. But don't be afraid. Please don't be scared."

Dorea pulls back slightly to glare at her (she mentally stutters at the word) fiancé. "A Black is _never_ scared," she scolds scornfully.

"Don't forget," he replies, smiling lightly, "you're almost a Potter now."

* * *

**T****oo long to be a drabble, I know. And some of the sentences were probably run-ons. But you know how sometimes your fingers just kinda take over, no matter what your brain says? Yeah.**


	2. Chapter 2

She looks beautiful, and she knows it, but somehow it's not enough to fight the panic rising inexorably within her.

They are dancing, their first dance as a married couple. She knows she should be happy, but she can't help but think about what will happen later that night.

The music comes to an end, and he dips her dramatically. Their bodies are perfectly aligned, and his bright blue eyes are staring straight into hers. He swoops down, and ohmysalazar he's about to kiss her isn't he and what will she do when he does and what if...but he simply presses his lips chastely to her cheek, before straightening them both up again.

There are whoops and cheers and wolf whistles in the background, but she knows that those noises come from the Potters, an infinitely livelier bunch than the Blacks. Dorea can almost _feel_ her mother radiating disapproval. She knows that the only reason she is married (married!) to Charlus is because of his money. But right now, under his warm gaze, it doesn't seem to matter. She certainly doesn't love him. Not six months ago, she could barely tolerate him and his ever-present cheeriness. But now, things are different. Her mother's voice floats unbidden into her mind. _Duty makes a girl loved. Duty._ She knows that duty was what made Charlus marry her, but she can't help but pretend that his warm gaze is a loving one, can't help but pretend that she has just gotten married to the man of her dreams in a fairy tale wedding like the ones she and her sister imagined as children.

The wonderful illusion is shattered, however, with the cold arrival of her parents. "Congratulations," her father offers stiffly. Her mother hugs Charlus just as awkwardly, letting go after barely three seconds. "In a few hours, you may retire upstairs to start producing heirs," her mother says finally, and suddenly her fears are back. She's never done anything like _that_ before, and, well, she's terrified.

She is broken out of her musings when she is suddenly pulled into a hug. But there are _two_ pairs of arms around her. She stares, bewildered, into the gentle face of her mother-in-law and the laughing face of her father-in-law. A sudden vision passes before her eyes of Charlus and herself aging just this gracefully, laugh lines prominent around their eyes and mouths, and humor sparkling in their eyes. She shakes the image from her head and tunes back into the conversation.

"...happy for you two," Mr. Potter smiles.

"Now I'll finally get grandchildren!" Mrs. Potter excitement is practically tangible, but her words cause that knot of fear to tighten in Dorea's belly. Something in her expression must have given away her feelings, for Mrs. Potter smiled kindly at her and reached for her arm, pulling her out of the hearing range of her husband and son.

"You're frightened, aren't you?" The older woman smiles kindly. The suggestion makes Dorea bristle indignantly, but before she can reclaim her dignity, Mrs. Potter stops her. "Don't deny it, child, I was terrified too. But, really, there's nothing to be afraid of. In fact, you just might get used to it." With a suggestive wink that put all _sorts_ of disturbing images in Dorea's mind, the charming old lady led her back to their husbands. Dorea can't help but bitterly compare her warm and comforting in-laws with her own haughty parents. Maybe being a Potter won't be so bad, after all.

Charlus grabs her hand as soon as she is within range, and interlocks their fingers, causing an unexpected warmth to spread within her. With a final glance around the decorated ballroom, and a few smiles at their guests, Charlus pulls her gently toward the staircase, toward (she gulps nervously) their room.

Luckily for her, his room is on the fourth floor of the Potter mansion, so she has plenty of time to steel herself for what is to come. She is about to lose her innocence, the last thing that makes her different from her sister. If she were anyone but a Black, Cassiopeia would be called a whole host of undesirable names. Being a Black however, she is merely a flirt who runs through boys like a sick person through tissues. The less-than-pleasant simile causes a smile to tug at Dorea's lips, but the frown soon returns. They have finally reached the door to their room. Once she enters the room, Dorea knows, she will be forever changed. But there is no going back now.

Charlus kicks the door shut behind them and smiles cheerily at her, before explaining (in more appropriate language, of course) that he _really_ needs to use the loo. Alone now, Dorea sits lightly on the edge of the bed, and tries not to think at all. She doesn't want Charlus to think she's afraid of anything.

For some reason, though, Charlus, like his mother, is able to read past her usually impenetrable mask. He eyes her now with a concern that makes her feel genuinely _wanted_ for the first time in her life.

"Dorea, are you okay? What's wrong?"

She turns her head away, trying not to let the tears slide down her cheeks. She can't crumble now.

But his warm hand is suddenly cupping her chin, turning her so her bright hazel eyes can look into his brilliant blue ones.

"Are you...scared? Oh, don't be afraid. Please, Dorea, don't be scared."

She allows her head to fall into the crook of his neck, allows his body to rock hers comfortingly, allows all her fear and tiredness to seep out of her body. But she musters enough energy to glare up into his eyes. "A Black is _never_ scared." She catches her mistake a moment too late.

He merely grins back, good cheer radiating from his eyes. "Don't forget, you're a Potter now."


	3. Chapter 3

He is lying on the hospital bed, so frail, so vulnerable, so unlike the Charlus Potter she knows. Tears prickle at her eyes as she tightens her hold on his hand, but she forces them to recede as he weakly tightens his hand in response.

"Charlus! Oh Charlus, you're finally awake! I'm going to go call a Healer!" She gets up to go do just that, but is stopped by a hand laid gently on her arm.

"Dor-Dorea." He pauses to cough violently, and she is just barely able to hold in her tears. "Please don't leave me." He sounded so frail, so fragile, it broke her heart.

"Oh darling, I'm not going anywhere. I promise. I will never leave you." A sudden, fierce protectiveness for this man that has been her everything for the past thirty-some years rushes through her. "I am _never_ going anywhere. I will love you for eternity. You know that, right?"

He nods and puts her hand on his cheek and smiles brightly, but it is just a shadow of his old grin, a reminder that he has aged, she has aged, and now, he is sick.

"And you're not going anywhere either," she continues, smiling down at her husband. "The healers say you're coming along nicely. You should be home in a few days."

That, of course, is a blatant lie. He is certainly not anywhere _near_ being okay, but she can't contemplate that possibility for even a second.

"I love you too," he manages to croak, and then he is asleep again.

Dorea can finally let the tears trickle, fall, pour from her eyes, as she lays her head near his hip, careful not to let go of his hand. _He can't leave her. He can't. He can't, he can't, he can't._

She is startled awake by a hand running gently through her hair, smoothing out the knots, and instantly soothing her. She slowly lifts her head and smiles at the man she came to love, then suddenly turns away to wipe away the tear tracks running down her cheeks. She hears him chuckle, and it warms her heart.

"Are you afraid, Dorea? Don't be scared. I will _never_ leave you. I love you too much."

And suddenly the tears are back in full force. But she manages to glare lightly at him, a smile threatening to tug at her lips. "A Potter is _never_ scared," she reminds him primly.

They both collapse into uncontrollable laughter. They startle the young Healer who chose that moment to walk into the room, which causes the old couple to laugh harder.

Dorea slowly returns to her senses, and smiles down at her husband, truly happy. Sure, he's no Prince Charming. And she never did get her fairy tale wedding. But she really does love him. And, she reflects joyfully, they both have laugh-lines around their eyes and mouths, and their eyes most definitely twinkle with humor.

And that's enough for her.

* * *

**Super lame ending, I know, but it's 4 AM, and I have to be awake and functioning in three hours. Oh, and this is completely unedited, so feel free to point out any mistakes.**

**Goodnight. ^^ Or, well, morning.**


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